“South.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing,” John said, revving the engine once more and then shifting it into gear.
• • •
It was four o’clock in the morning by the time they reached the storage units in New Jersey. Fortunately, there was no locked gate to keep them out. They drove toward the back of the facility and parked the truck in front of the storage unit Eli had secured.
“The key?” Ashley asked.
“There,” John said, nodding toward a green dumpster several yards away.
“We need to swim through trash?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
They climbed out of the pickup and marched toward the dumpster. The stench of trash was overbearing. John dropped to the ground and reached underneath.
“Anything?”
John said nothing. He moved to the other side of the dumpster and reached underneath again. Finally his face lit up. “Bingo.”
He stood back up with a tiny blank magnetic case. He slid the top off and from inside extracted a single key.
They headed back to the storage unit.
John grabbed the GPS device from the truck. He opened the lid and then held the key up toward Ashley.
“Want to do the honors?”
She did. Seconds later the storage unit door sprung open and she flicked on a light inside to reveal a black Lincoln Town Car.
“Impressive,” Ashley said.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
John set the device on the hood, extracted the gun from his pocket, gripped it by the barrel, and brought it down hard on the windshield.
Nothing. Not even a scratch on the glass.
“Bulletproof,” John said.
Ashley tilted her head toward the GPS device. “They still on the move?”
“Doesn’t look like it. At least, judging by the speed, they’re no longer in a plane. Which means they’ve landed and are headed toward someplace within driving distance.”
“Where?”
“Maryland.”
John left the device on the hood and opened the driver’s door. He retrieved the key from the sun visor and went next to the back of the car.
“Ready to see something really impressive?”
He popped the trunk and stepped back so Ashley could peer inside. In the previous car, Eli had had his equipment in duffel bags. Here they were not restrained by cloth but open for all to see. Guns, rifles, ammunition, explosives, even what appeared to be-
Ashley, her voice incredulous: “Is that …”
John picked up the rocket-propelled grenade, hefted it and placed it on his shoulder.
“I’ve never been a violent person,” he said, “but after what these people have done to my family and everyone else? I say it’s time we go to war.”
part three
sixty
Eli opened his eyes to brightness.
He immediately squinted and tried to use his hand to shield his eyes, but his hand wouldn’t move. Neither would his other hand. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t move. His arms, his legs, his feet-they were all secured to the bed he was lying on.
The room was completely bare except for the bed. The floor and walls were a dull white. Every fluorescent in the ceiling was on, blinding him.
He assumed a camera was stationed somewhere in the room, watching him, but he couldn’t be sure until his eyes adjusted to the light.
Across from Eli stood the only door in the room. He watched it, counting in his head, expecting the door to open at any second.
After a full minute, the door remained closed.
So this was it, he thought. After thirty years of trying to stay off the radar, of getting supplies together in the event he ever did have to go after Matheson, of losing nearly every person who ever meant anything to him, it all ended up here in a sterilized room, tied to a bed, with the intent that he would stay here until the day he died.
He wondered when that would be. Today? Tomorrow? Next week? Next year? Now that Matheson had him, would he kill him right away, or would he take his time, maybe even torture Eli? It wasn’t like Eli had any information Matheson would want-or anything, really-but that wouldn’t stop the madman from inflicting pain on Eli just for the hell of it. In the end it would all come down to principle. Eli had betrayed Matheson, and because of that Matheson wanted Eli and everyone Eli cared about to suffer.
They had stripped him of his clothes. Now he wore a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants. His feet were bare and cold.
He wondered whether John and Ashley were all right. Had they made it off the island? If so, had John managed to find the storage unit in Jersey?
Eli’s mind began to race. He thought about the tracking device he had swallowed and which now lay somewhere inside of him. Depending where he was, there was a chance John might not be able to track him. And if that was the case, then this entire thing had been for nothing. Every life that had been lost because of him-his children and his grandchildren-chipped away at his soul. He had never intentionally put them in harm’s way until the very end, and even then it had been out of his hands, just something he had to accept. Did that make him a cold bastard? Yes, he supposed it did.
After several long minutes that may have been several long hours-Eli’s eyes having adjusted to the brightness and spotted the camera in the corner of the room-the door finally opened.
The same two men from the house on Martha’s Vineyard entered. It was difficult to tell them apart. One was a bit taller than the other. One was a bit wider in the shoulders. They both had short hair. They both had dark eyes.
Eli asked, “Where’s Matheson?”
The shorter of the two said, “He’s coming.”
“Which one of you murdered Melissa?”
The taller one raised a hand. “That would be me.”
“How?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t that difficult. Despite her having twenty-four-seven protection, our people still managed to gain access to the apartment. We waited for the husband and kids to come home, tied them up, then waited for your daughter. She always worked late, from what we could gather. Always put her job before her family, I guess you’d say. But then she did come home. We tied her up, too. We set the scene, where we wanted the bodies found. We shot the husband and children ourselves, though we made sure we put just the right amount of gunshot residue on your daughter’s hand. We sent the email and walked your daughter up to the roof and pushed her off. The security footage afterward wasn’t hard to fix.”
“She was just like you.” Eli fought hard to keep the tremor from his voice. “All my children were. If it wasn’t for me, they would have become foot soldiers in this ridiculous war. But I saved them. I gave them a second chance. I gave them the opportunity to lead a normal life.”
The shorter man said, “And now they’re all dead thanks to you.”
The taller man wore a radio on his belt. A slight beep issued from it, and both men turned away and headed back toward the door.
Before they opened the door, though, the shorter man said to Eli, “I have to admit, you got a lot further than we originally thought you would.”
“Your point?”
“It’s impressive. You should be proud of yourself.”
When Eli didn’t respond, the man smiled, snorted a laugh, and opened the door. He and the other man stood back and waited as Oswald Matheson entered the room. He did not do so on his own two feet, but instead with the help of a motorized wheelchair.
Eli was in his late-fifties. The man in the wheelchair was at least twenty years older, and he looked it. Sunken eyes, translucent skin, white hair. Time had not been kind to him.
Matheson navigated the wheelchair to stop right in front of the bed. He raised a frail hand and waved the two men away.
The men took their leave, closing the door quietly behind them.